Page 41 of Baited

“This is your favorite place?” I ask him, looking around.

I’ve seen worse, but I’ve seen better. Solyum consists mostly of taverns, the occasional market stall, covered in the red dust from the desert outside Tatatunga and which coats the place daily, and various shops which are indistinct in what they are selling.

“It’s where I come when I have a pass.” Blayn is glaring at Retah.

The violence level seems to be rising.

“So, take me somewhere you like to go,” I suggest, putting my hand on Blayn’s arm.

Retah’s eyes nearly pop out of his horned head at my gesture.

Blayn dips his head.

“If that’s what you want?” he says quietly. “Stick close to me.”

We step out of the transport and into the crowd, which parts easily, almost naturally ahead of my huge gladiator.

“Good luck,” Retah calls out, to yet another growl by Blayn which causes a number of traders to scatter.

Why do I feel I’m going to need it?

IZZY

Blayn moves in a zig zag way through the markets and taverns, as if he doesn’t exactly know where he is going. More often than not, there are more growls, more sudden movements from others to get out of his way. There are also whispers and stares, although not as many as a huge, winged gladiator with an attitude should get.

It looks like he is known here.

We’re walking down yet another dusty street when Blayn stumbles slightly and gives his feet a glare as if they are at fault.

“If you’re still not well, we can go…” I suggest.

“I’m well, my Izzy,” he says, putting his huge clawed hand over mine. In the crowd, someone squeaks as he opens his wings slightly. Blayn flinches, his eyes dark, brow pulled down like the predator he is. “I had a thought, and I need to get…some things.”

He ushers me to one side, under a brightly colored awning and into a shop doorway.

“Blayn!” A heavyset Yetag greets him, one set of arms open, his other arms, which are more like tentacles, folded over his chest. “It’s been too long.”

The expression on Blayn’s face hovers between ultra violence and the slight smile I’ve seen on him a few times. Eventually he plumps for a slight snarl.

“I’ve been busy,” he says. “But I have brought my mate. I need her to stay here while I…get some things.”

I look between the Yetag, his short, pointed horns on the top of his head making him look a bit like a devil, if he wasn’t neon green in color, and Blayn who suddenly seems very uncomfortable and darts out of the door, the occupants of Solyom swiftly getting out of his way.

The Yetag coughs. “Would the little mistress like a seat while she waits?”

He gestures to a monstrosity behind him. It looks like something halfway between a torture chamber and a dentist’s chair.

“I don’t have any clients booked in for a few nova-hours,” he adds.

“Clients?”

I still can’t work out what this place is or why Blayn would leave me here.

“For artwork?” The Yetag smiles, showing sharp, pointed teeth like a shark. “Blayn is one of my best customers.”

He presses a digit on the torture chair, and the wall next to me dissolves, only to be covered again with images.

This is a tattoo parlor…an alien tattoo parlor. Blayn’s favorite place in Solyom is a tattoo parlor. Of course it is.

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